


All The Little Pieces of Me and You

by donotaskforlove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, F/M, Feels, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donotaskforlove/pseuds/donotaskforlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knows well how quickly a friends-with-benefits friendship can go to shit, but this time, it's foolproof...or so Harry thinks. Obviously, things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

During the past year, Harry has developed a thing for numbers, percentages. For example: knowing the exact amount of petrol he has in his car (knowing it in miles and gallons) until it runs out. How much battery life his mobile has and knowing precisely what twenty percent battery life means in minutes and hours. It is very useful, handy.

There is also the fact that, week-to-week, there is an upswing in percentage when it comes to one very little, important thing: totally and completely being over the semi-relationship thing he had with Louis last year.

Harry has reached an enviable eighty percent of being over it, and breathes a little easier, a little freer, each month. Ninety percent is just around the corner, he can feel it in his bones.

It also helps things tremendously that he has figured out how to let life happen around him, instead of forcing intimacy and looking to imprint on every single person, because it is wasteful. Tiring and exhausting and just stupid, and Harry has made mistakes before, but he is never stupid. The need to be loved by one and all is going through a slow, clumsy evolution of its own, and that's another thing that has seen a good upward trend. It is at about sixty-seven percent of getting over the itch of making everyone be obsessed with him, and it's a little painful, but it's worth it. It's positive growth, his mum says.

If there is one person that does not know the meaning of getting over it, it's Zayn.

Harry pities him.

:::::

It went like this: during their first tour, partly because of boredom and partly because of curiosity, Harry started experimenting and messing around with Louis, while Zayn and Liam paired off together too.

After awhile, Louis got bored, or over it, and Harry got hurt and tired of it, so they awkwardly called it quits. Put it behind them. Louis looked really relieved when Harry agreed to it without a fuss, Harry remembers.

On the other end, Liam got over it, and called it off with Zayn. Harry imagines Liam looking hangdog and sorry as Zayn's poor heart shattered all over the place and sprayed arterial blood right in Liam's wide-eyed face.

Louis then brought along Eleanour, while Harry kept it loose and easy with Grimmy and friends. Liam fell hard for Danielle a few weeks later, and it was hard work getting over his own fuck-up and boosting his percentages while Zayn walked around looking like he was Bambi watching his mum get killed at every turn, but Harry managed.

Zayn found Perrie, and it seemed to work, so Harry was relieved and didn't pay closer attention.

Harry knows what they say about assuming.

:::::

Harry likes to think that he is a pro, now. A pro at sleeping with friends and not getting attached, or getting feelings hurt or muddying up good times. Whenever he senses the slightest hint of something more, or attachment, he nips it in the bud and forgoes it.

It was over drinks one time, when Harry leaned on Grimmy's shoulder and said (or slurred), “You know it's just mates between us, yeah? It doesn't have to mean a thing.”

Grimmy just sighed, terribly put upon, and kissed his cheek. “Of course. I'd be stupid to think otherwise. That would be the dumbest mistake of my adult life, Harry,” he said, somewhat fondly, and Harry grinned brightly up at him from Grimmy's shoulder and said, “Absolute worst mistake of your life, mate.” He'd felt Grimmy pet his hair for a few seconds until he was dragged away to the dance floor, Harry losing sight of him for the rest of the night.

That's another thing that Harry is all about now: clarity. Rules.

He has a lot of rules and guidelines that will make his life ten times easier, on their upcoming second tour.

The maturity buzzes through his veins like a shot of really expensive tequila sometimes, and it's hard not to feel a little above it and superior when he catches other people making fools of themselves. Harry is just glad he learned his lesson at a young age.

:::::

One of Niall's friends throws a party at his flat four days before their 2013 tour is set to kick off, and Harry finds himself hanging back in the shadows, with a heavily spiked fruity drink in his plastic red cup and a pretty girl next to his side, running her fingers down his arm. Her name is Mary, and she absolutely _loves_ their new album. Harry flicks his hair from out of his eyes and grins. It's always so easy, so apparent.

Harry would be paying more attention to her cherry red lips and the tight fit of her silver top if it weren't for the fact that Zayn and Jack Harries were putting on the dullest and saddest show in the history of the world right across from him, on the couch.

Jack is throwing eager and sultry eyes at Zayn simultaneously and at super speed, while Zayn is leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, a small smile curling on his lips. Jack leans into him and his lips brush Zayn's ear and cheek as he whispers something undoubtedly dirty in Zayn's ear, but Zayn doesn't react to it too obviously. His fingers seem to press deeper into his upper arms and a slow, sly grin stretches over Zayn's lips, as he ducks his head.

It is no secret to anyone that Jack wants to fuck Zayn and live out his biggest fantasy, but Zayn is being a tease. Zayn is acting like a coy virgin. It would be so easy, letting Jack guide him to one of the bedrooms for a quikie, but … Zayn just sits there and lets Jack self-combust with teenage hormones. Zayn and Perrie broke up months ago, and Zayn is being ridiculous, quite frankly.

Harry is pushing off the wall and moving toward them before he realizes it, and slows his pace when he nears them, idly sips his drink. When Jack spots him, his face lights up, predictably, and Harry waves a little and says, “Hi.”

“Hi! It's good to see you!” Jack says (or shouts), and he is entirely too precious.

Zayn's head jerks up and he immediately looks suspicious, which is hurtful. Harry smiles with his dimples and says, “Can I borrow Zayn for a second? I just need to tell him something important – boring band stuff and all that jazz.” He yanks Zayn up from his seat and is dragging him away back to his corner – now vacated, pity – and shoves the cup in Zayn's hand.

“What is this?” Zayn asks, now suspiciously peering inside the cup.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Liquid courage. Although I suspect it would be completely wasted on you.”

Zayn leans against the wall and takes a tentative sip from the cup, grimacing as it burns its way down. “This is terrible, no wonder you like it,” Zayn says, handing the cup back, and Harry grins, bumps their shoulders together. “Who said anything about liking it?” Harry replies, and then does a quick, furtive check for prying snoops before he drags Zayn to his side and whispers, “Why are you acting like such a twat? He wants to blow you. What is the problem, mate?”

Zayn shrugs and mutters, “It's just that … I don't think it's a good idea.”

“Please,” Harrys says. “You're fit, he's fit. You should be shagging right now. You aren't picking out china patterns and tea sets, for Christ's sake.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and says sourly, “I know. He just seems really loud and excitable.”

Harry's brows furrow in confusion as he asks, “Yeah, so?”

Zayn huffs out a breath and says, “Like, what if he tries to one-up his friends while they're messing about and lets it slip that he's slept with me? It's just easier with girls.”

“You're being paranoid,” Harry says, softly.

That doesn't seem to be the right thing to say. Zayn's glare whips in his direction as he says, “No, I'm not. It's different for you. You've got loads of close mates that won't let something like that slip out to anyone, in any circumstance.”

With a sudden and entirely terrible realization, Harry hisses quietly in Zayn's ear, “Was Liam the last bloke you messed around with? _More than a year ago_?”

Zayn quickly bites out, “No, you twat,” and tries to duck out from under Harry's hold but is ultimately unable to. Harry lets him struggle hopelessly for a few seconds until he gives up and sighs, slumps back in Harry's hold. Harry then promptly drops a kiss to his cheek and rests his forehead against the side of Zayn's head as his mind races with ideas, possibilities.

Harry is about to blurt out his half-formed proposal in its entire glory, right then and there, when Zayn stubbornly turns his head to look at him, his face kind of tragically pained – kind of shit at keeping all of his deep, soulful looks in check.

“I've got an idea,” Harry says, smiling slightly, “and I'll propose it to you tomorrow. For tonight, we drink and forget the fact that you, my friend, make a shit Ophelia. Or Juliet. Whichever.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn says, trying not to smile.

“That's the plan,” Harry quickly says with a wink, and doesn't elaborate when Zayn pokes him in the side and asks, “What are you on about now?”

They get spectacularly smashed, and Harry winds up getting back to his flat with Mary, who he fucks sloppily and enthusiastically, still working out the details of his brilliant plan in his head.

In the morning, he runs through his mental checklist and reexamines his decision in the brutal glow of daylight, to find very few holes in it.

It goes like this: he and Zayn will be fuckbuddies while on the road and touring (nothing exclusive, though, of course). They will both benefit from this arrangement because 1) they get to have easy, regular, feelings-free sex, 2) Zayn gets cock without fear of winding up in the tabloids, and 3) Harry gets cock because he wants cock. The glue holding most of this plan together is the fact that Harry is going into it with perfect clarity of the entire situation: the fact that Zayn is never, ever going to get over Liam, at this point. It's been forever. It's the truth. Harry has calculated and tabulated all of the risks and factors in this. There is no way he will ever find himself surprised or caught off guard, basically.

It would, perhaps, be simpler to help hook Zayn up with some of his closer friends who don't mind having a bit of fun, but there is little for Harry to gain from that scenario. Also, they are going to be touring for a few months, so that makes no sense, logically. Harry will sacrifice himself nobly for this cause.

Now he just needs to convince Zayn that it's a good idea.

:::::

The thing is, even though one would think that Harry and Zayn would have gotten closer over their identical heartbreaks during the past few months, it hadn't worked out like that in reality.

Louis and Zayn had developed this weirder, tighter friendship, where they hung out a lot and would spend time outside the band being odd homebodies or plotting world domination together. Snickering in each other's ears and not attending events together (not the way Liam, Niall, and Harry did), like it was their own unique (baffling) solidarity pack.

It used to irritate Harry, how much closer they became once everything went to shit, but then he found himself being drawn more and more toward Liam (and Niall, who was always there and patient), because Liam was calm, composed, and nonjudgemental. (Even though Liam fucked up, too. That just made him more genuine.)

Harry had always relied on Liam being there for him – solid and honest and real. Liam was like the ground, like gravity. Harry wonders how it happened that he didn't fall head over heels for Liam, first. Zayn and Louis, Liam and Harry. They might've had a better chance that way.

Louis was always bright lights and splendor. Louis was blindingly exhausting and a leech. It had been easy, for a time.

A year ago, Liam had admitted to Harry, with intense guilt making him look ten years older: “I told Zayn from the beginning that it was just sex, just experimentation for me. I told him to tell me if it meant more to him. I told him to drop it and save us both the fallout if things got a bit much. The idiot _likes_ to get burned.” Then, realizing that he was the one who'd unintentionally burned Zayn in the process, Liam had swallowed heavily and covered his face with his hands. Harry had hugged him and thought, stupidly, of Louis.

Harry had hoped that Louis felt half as guilty and had poured out his heart to Zayn or Niall, but it was a long shot.

Harry had even known it then.

:::::

In a lot of ways, Harry would say that Zayn and he are sort of hyperaware around each other. They know the ins and outs, all the little ticks and tells, but they are still sort of uncertain, when it comes to their relationship. Friendship. Harry had always thought that Zayn was just like Louis, but he's pretty sure he's wrong.

Zayn wears his heart on his sleeve like it's an endless trend, and just that one thing puts him in a whole other category. It sometimes makes Harry want to sit him down and peel away more of his layers, see where Harry is right and all the ways he might be devastatingly wrong.

They joke about Zayn being falsely labeled as a mystery, but it's never been much of a joke to Harry. Louis can probably parse Zayn out the best. Louis held Zayn's hand and drove him to the airport when Zayn was called back home. Harry saw Louis hug and place soft, gentle kisses all over Zayn's tear-streaked face, like Louis knew him to the very core, like he was the only one who was let in. Harry had wondered, _why not them?_ Maybe Louis had less to lose with Harry, but that's something that just sits like a rock in Harry's stomach, so he ignores it.

Anyway, it's obvious: Harry has the least to lose by doing this with Zayn, and vice versa. That's the beauty of this set-up. It is perfect. It will be fun, easy.

:::::

Harry drops by Zayn's flat unannounced the day before they are set to fly off to Florida, and waits patiently for Zayn to open the door.

Zayn opens the door with a scowl and a messy bedhead. His blue t-shirt is loose about the collarbones and his sweats hang off his hips precariously. He still looks fuckable. This is something Harry can work with.

“Are you dying?” Zayn asks meanly, leaning against the open door and looking as though he won't be letting Harry in any time soon.

“No, sunshine. I'm not. May come in?” Harry asks sweetly, and then pinches Zayn's cheeks quickly before he pushes both of them inside.

“Are you mentally ill? Feverish? Is the world ending?” Zayn continues to snap off, clearly the worst morning person in the entire world. Harry will fix that with enthusiastic blowjobs in the very near future. For now, he will busy himself with making tea.

“I am in perfectly good mental and physical health, thank you, darling,” Harry says as retrieves mugs and spoons. He heaves in a great sigh when he views the contents of Zayn's fridge. Harry should have bought breakfast.

Zayn slumps down on a seat and says, “Pity,” and then sulks some more as Harry prepares his tea for him (with two teaspoons of sugar, just the way he likes it). Once Harry makes the toast (with butter and jelly, of course) and slams that down next to their tea, Zayn perks up. A little.

He eyes Harry distrustfully for a few seconds, but then reaches for his tea and a piece of toast. It's unwarranted and a little hurtful, honestly. “What's the catch?” Zayn asks, after a swallow, licking jelly off his thumb. He looks like a very disgruntled squirrel.

Harry clutches at his chest dramatically and then takes a sip of his tea, clearly affronted. “There is no catch, Malik, you suspicious bastard.” The four pieces of toast are down to two so Harry snags a piece before the entire plate is gone.

Zayn rolls his eyes and flicks crumbs off his fingers. “What did you do? Is it going to wind up on the telly?” Then a beat later, he adds, “Does management know?” Harry is too busy shaking his head pityingly to reply back.

“I did nothing. Everything is fine, mother hen,” Harry answers honestly, and takes a seat next to Zayn, bumps their elbows together.

“Then what do you want?” Zayn asks unsurely, eyebrows furrowed together, biting at a hangnail.

Harry grins a little and clears his throat. Showtime. “Well, since you asked so nicely … I've got a proposition.” The side of Zayn's mouth quirks up in confusion as he leans a little away from Harry. “What is this proposition about?” It looks like he's bracing himself for something entirely too filthy and demeaning, by the look on his face. Harry huffs out a frustrated breath and crosses his arms over his chest, a little pissed off now.

“It's about sex, you donut. You. Me. Sex. On the road. No strings attached,” he bites off quickly, and watches Zayn's face morph into wide-eyed surprise. Finally. Progress.

“You want us to have sex while we're touring.”

“Yes,” Harry answers.

“You and me.”

“I recall saying that, yes.”

A few seconds of silent contemplation pass.

“Because that worked out so well for the both of us the last time around,” Zayn quips.

Harry bites his lip in irritation and leans forward. “Who cares what the fuck happened last time. We were foolish. We aren't now. It's just to let off some steam when we don't feel like pulling.”

Zayn's mouth straightens out into a thin line, his hands between his knees. “Are serious? You're not having me on?”

Harry growls and presses his hands down onto his thighs so he doesn't choke Zayn. This is so fucking simple, my god. “No, I'm not messing with your head. You said you wanted to fuck around with blokes but didn't know who to trust, and I'm telling you that I don't mind being that guy. It's straightforward, really,” Harry says, trying to close the deal.

Zayn finally, finally sort of loosens up and unwinds in his seat, relaxes. “No strings. Nothing exclusive.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry breathes out in relief, trying to look honest and open. The way Liam does.

Zayn catches his eyes for a second, and adds, “No feelings involved,” and Harry feels bad, suddenly. He wonders if Zayn heard the same version of this a long time ago. He wonders if it's playing in his head right now.

Harry shakes his head and puts his hand down onto Zayn's knee. “No feelings. I'd liked to think we both learned how to go about this properly the second time around, eh?”

The small, awkward smile on Zayn's face is progress, Harry tells himself. “So. Okay. Yeah, then.” Zayn looks around his kitchen, runs a hand through his hair. “Why not?”

“Why not, indeed. It's a deal,” Harry agrees eagerly, then zooms in to grab Zayn by the sides of his face with both hands to seal it with an enthusiastic _pop_ of a kiss. Zayn smiles and wrinkles his nose, wipes at his mouth. “You had crumbs on your lips, you arse.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders and grins back, satisfied. “I don't care.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has the best plans, honestly.

The night they land in muggy, soul-sucking Florida, the weather thick and cloying enough to make Harry want to walk around naked or with little fans attached to his shoulders and arms – is a terrible night.

He is not in the mood. All Harry wants to do is take a freezing shower at the hotel and then come out and blast the AC until he dries off and catches hypothermia (if it's possible).

Harry comes out of the shower with a towel loosely wrapped around his hips to be greeted by Zayn; collapsed on his bed, in a cut-off tank and sweats. Zayn's hair is wet and curling at the ends, so he obviously came out of the shower too.

Harry says, “Hey,” and starts rummaging around his bag for a clean t-shirt and briefs. Then, realizing that his efforts at modesty are completely pointless, he just grabs a pair of briefs and grimaces as he puts it on, his legs not dried off completely.

Zayn groans and flops a hand weakly in his direction. “I made a mistake. I'm going to go back to my room in a second. Change of plans.”

Harry is a little relieved, because he mainly wants to order room service and then sleep for a million hours. But he could be persuaded. Harry nears the bed and lewdly grabs at his crotch, jutting out his hips a little toward Zayn's face. “You sure you don't want some of this?” Harry leers and leans forward to, like, maybe bite Zayn on the shoulder or something, but Zayn merely slaps his hands away and pushes Harry's face away as he groans and rolls over. He falls flat on his face on the pillow and Harry chuckles, swats at his ass with his wet towel.

“Stop it. I'm leaving,” Zayn says, voice slightly muffled, and just when he makes to push himself off the bed and leave, Harry dive-bombs on the bed and locks him in a hold. He ignores Zayn's outraged squawk and says, “You are staying. I'm ordering room service, and then we'll cuddle and watch some telly.”

Zayn grumpily moans out, “I'm serious, let me go. Too tired to mess around,” and when Harry nuzzles Zayn's neck and tightens his hold, Zayn brutally pinches Harry's thigh – the one he's got wrapped around Zayn's hip – mercilessly and Harry jerks back and scowls, hisses out a pained, “ _Fuck_. Fuck you, that _hurt_.” Zayn plays dirty. Harry doesn't know why he's always surprised by this fact.

It garners no reaction from Zayn as he sits upright and stretches a little, runs a hand down the back of his neck. “Sorry not sorry.” He graces Harry with a nonchalantly raised eyebrow and a casual shrug of the shoulders as he gets up and heads for the door, saying, “See you bright and early tomorrow, yeah?”

Harry flicks him off and sulks when the hotel door gently closes, now pissed off for no good reason. “He's mental, great. I can't ever choose the normal ones,” he mutters to himself, before ordering room service and getting ready to spend a night alone.

If he happens to watch gay porn on his laptop – some light bondage and spanking, nothing out of the ordinary – before he goes to sleep, and the guy bottoming looks a little bit like Zayn, then it's merely a coincidence.

Harry lets the heat lick through him with a slow, satisfying burn, but comes with a sudden, shaky jolt, when Zayn lookalike gets his arse spanked hard (once, twice, and a third time), and folds in on himself and comes with a low, pained moan.

Afterwards, Harry cleans himself up, shuts his laptop, and falls asleep.

He'll deal with Zayn in the morning. Or he won't. Depends.

:::::

“Already the honeymoon is over, and we never even had the chance to enjoy it, doll,” Harry croons sweetly in Zayn's ear the next morning, as they are filling up their plates with breakfast food, in one of the conference rooms at the hotel that has been turned into their own private buffet.

Zayn clucks his tongue and puts strawberries in his plate, along with a piece of french toast. “I'm filing for a divorce. Nothing personal, but you just don't excite me anymore, babe,” he says mock-apologetically and with a rueful grin. Harry narrows his eyes and squeezes Zayn's hip as he passes by him to grab juice. “We'll see about that, Malik. I'm afraid you have just landed yourself in a great deal of trouble.” Liam looks up from his scrambled eggs and frowns. “Do I need to separate you two?” Liam asks suspiciously, glancing at Zayn, who shrugs innocently in return and takes a careful bite of his strawberry.

Harry pouts and sets his plate down next to Zayn's. “Oh, Li, stop it. Your distrustful nature is tearing us apart.” Liam rolls his eyes and mutters, “I'll tear something apart, alright,” and Louis snorts, continues to text without pause. Niall is still filling up his plate – no, wait, _two plates_. Zayn grins fondly at Niall, and says wonderingly, “Where does he put it all away?”

“That's sweet, but here – have some more toast. And eggs,” Harry says with utmost authority, piling more food onto Zayn's plate. Zayn's massive eyebrow raise – it hits his hairline, honestly – is impressive and a little hard to ignore.

“Anything else? Don't be shy, now,” Zayn says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, waiting.

“Yes, we're going to start weightlifting, you and I. You need some more muscle tone,” Harry says matter-of-factly, as he takes a sip of his tea and starts in on his plate. After a few seconds of silence and no movement from his periphery, Harry plucks a piece of jam and butter toast from his own plate and leans toward Zayn, bumps the toast against Zayn's lips. Zayn shakes his head in disbelief and refuses to open his mouth, but Harry smirks winningly at him, as he whispers in Zayn's ear, “I'll tell Liam that you cried out his name when you came last night, as I fucked you.” The look of utter betrayal and shock is something that makes Harry crack up and Zayn bite into the toast and yank it away from his grasp.

“You nasty prick,” Zayn swears lowly, as he gets to rapidly clearing off his entire plate. Furiously and adorably. Harry thinks Zayn might be blushing a little.

Harry wastes no more time and takes out his mobile from his pocket to take a picture of Zayn, mid-chew and looking like he wants to murder Harry on the spot. Harry smiles beatifically and shrugs his shoulders when Liam sighs and asks, “Now what, you two?”

“Nothing, nothing, old man. We're good, aren't we, Zayn?” Louis and Niall perk up and look at them, as well.

Zayn's smile could cut diamonds, it's so sharp. He says, “We're fine. We're better than fine, actually,” then pats Harry's thigh a few times in a show of compassion. Harry is expecting it this time, when Zayn's fingers dig into the meat of his thigh like claws. Harry swallows a curse and doesn't react too obviously, he thinks.

But Louis immediately catches his eyes with a questioning look, so Harry ignores it and goes back to his eggs.

When Zayn tries to stealthily remove his hand, Harry calmly grabs his wrist to stop him.

It's horrible, how it just hits him, out of nowhere – the past. Snapshots of their first tour. But it puts an end to it. Harry drops Zayn's wrist and mentally scolds himself.

Harry knows where he's at in regards to coming to terms with the past, but that moment, fooling around with Zayn, felt a little like before. Like it was between him and Louis.

He tunes out of everything else for the rest of breakfast and leaves to make a call to Grimmy while the lads wander around.

Grimmy says on the third ring, “You are a horrible person. You left me and I hate you, you tease,” and Harry lets out a long sigh, smiles openly as he basks in the sunlight, in the little private garden to the side.

“I missed you, too,” Harry says, and forgets everything else.

:::::

Despite the fact that Zayn and Harry became fast friends in the beginning whirlwind of their rise to stardom, they tended to gravitate away from each other when it was just the lads and no cameras.

The only time they would seek each other out, back then, would be at night.

Harry would sometimes sneak into Zayn's bed (and it was always Harry, for whatever reason), and they'd fall asleep together, elbows touching. It would occur in hotel rooms and in the tour bus, and Zayn would never kick him out, or question him.

They'd would either quietly talk about nothing for a few minutes (slow conversations littered with sighs and stops), or talk about home. About missing siblings, friends, or parents. It never went any deeper than that – it was like some unspoken thing between them, only during those restless, heavy nights; when it would hit them suddenly that they were too young and the world was too large and demanding.

That was the only time they felt the same, like they had more in common than being singers, being stuck in a band together. Harry had Liam for problem solving and guidance (or sympathetic flicks to the nose), Niall for having a carefree, good time, and Louis for comfort and breathless laughter. Zayn was for quiet, for peace. Harry was glad Zayn fit in there, somewhere.

One night, while on their sides and facing each other, almost falling asleep (Zayn was dozing, Harry thinks), Harry pressed his lips to Zayn's in a light, butterfly kiss. When he pulled back, Harry could just make the fluttering of Zayn's lashes blinking sleepily open, and how he didn't look surprised at all.

The light from the hall was only good for blurry, vague details, but Harry could trace the shadows of Zayn's lashes hitting his cheekbones, the flicker of Zayn's tongue as he wet his lips.

Harry helplessly murmured, “Your eyes are ridiculous,” and Zayn said, “Hush,” as he leaned in and kissed Harry, thumb stroking underneath Harry's jaw soothingly.

They fell asleep trading unhurried and uncoordinated kisses, and Harry remembers the warmth of their mouths, fitting together.

Harry remembers the glow of the light cocooning them, transporting them somewhere else entirely.

Moments like that are something that he tries to actively put behind him, because things have changed, now.

Everything has changed, and it's important to remember that.

:::::

They have wrapped up a few successful shows, and Harry is flying, soaring on adrenalin throughout the week. The heady intoxication of performing for thousands of clamoring fans buzzes through Harry's veins like a slick, dizzying pill. It's hard to shake off.

After their second show, Harry reaches out to tug the back of Zayn's t-shirt while the others march ahead to their rooms. They've just eaten and are knackered (Harry is finally emotionally and physically spent), but Harry sees Louis and Niall halfheartedly making plans to go out, to let a little loose. Paul huffs out a laugh and says, “Nice try, lads,” but Harry knows it's all for show. He'll be dragged along to chaperone and to make sure Louis and Niall keep their shirts on throughout the night, and that they don't incite riots.

Liam bumps fists with them and goes to his room. Zayn falls into step with Harry and waves to the boys as Harry guides him to their rooms, at the end of the long, winding hallway.

Niall shouts, “You lot aren't coming?” And Harry says, “No, Zayn and I are going to have a slumber party. Paint each other's nails, gossip – the usual,” with a small, wry smile, and Niall rolls his eyes and lets his room door close behind him with a muted click.

It just the two of them when Zayn pulls away to go to his room. Harry huffs out a breath and says, “Hey, come to mine,” and immediately throws up his hands in the air in disgust when Zayn just looks at him blankly, his room card poised to slide down the reader.

Harry makes a very obvious blowjob gesture with his tongue and hand, and Zayn laughs, shakes his head. “I don't think I feel like it tonight,” Zayn says apologetically, still smiling, but Harry is having none of it.

Harry pushes him against the door and slips his extra room card in Zayn's tight jeans, and nips Zayn's earlobe, before he says, “You can take selfies later, yeah? Preferably after we've fucked. Come in thirty minutes.”

Harry ignores how Zayn's mouth drops open a little stupidly in surprise, and goes to his room, right across from Zayn's. The door closing in Zayn's cartoonish face is pretty priceless.

It's kind of fun, even considering the fact that there is a lot of sex that Harry isn't having. He'll go out to pull after their next show.

A little over twenty minutes later, Zayn walks into Harry's room as Harry channel surfs, wondering if he should have gone out with Niall and Louis, anyway.

One glance at the bored, long-suffering look on Zayn's face puts a stop to those thoughts. It shouldn't be possible to look that sullen and disinterested when one is going to have amazing sex. Harry isn't Liam, but he's still quite a catch. He tries not to feel too affronted as he gets up on his knees and drags Zayn in for a bruising, biting kiss. Zayn flails a little for the first few seconds, but then follows the cues and gets with it.

That night, Harry sucks Zayn languidly and torturously slowly, until Zayn is a whimpering, tense mess, then finishes him off when Zayn groans pathetically (he's going for a growl, Harry is sure) and completely loses his cool. (Harry brings him to the brink and backs off twice. It's a little cruel, Harry admits.) Harry lets him tug on his hair and thrust in in short, jerky movements until Zayn comes with a long, drawn out, gut-punch of a groan. Harry spits the come out into Zayn's t-shirt and Zayn is too tired to glare or pout, which is kind of amazing. Harry grins up at him, and says, “Got ya.” Zayn wheezes in reply, eyes shut.

Harry noses under Zayn's jaw and kisses his way up to Zayn's gasping mouth, fingers leaving sticky trails up Zayn's chest and arms, thrusting sort of mindlessly against Zayn's thigh, aching for his own release.

Zayn throws a slack, heavy arm around his shoulders after a minute, and fits his hand around Harry's leaking cock. He doesn't play around and Harry is so very thankful. Zayn brings him off with quick, rough pulls and a hard swipe of his thumb, and Harry is gone, shaking and gasping nonsense against Zayn's slack lips.

They catch their breaths side by side for a few minutes, and Harry only thinks about arguing for a second when Zayn stumbles out of bed to grab one of Harry's clean shirts, to leave.

It's better that they go about it this way, Harry thinks.

Even so, he trails Zayn to the door and thoroughly kisses him (Harry's hands fisted at the neck of the shirt, ruining his own things, as always), much to Zayn's amusement, apparently.

“Less snogging, more shagging,” Zayn says with a smirk, and Harry rolls his eyes and shoves him out as he opens the door. “I can't stand to look at you for a second longer. Leave me, peasant,” Harry says obnoxiously, and the sound of Zayn's laughter still carries through the titanium, steal-trap monstrosity of a door.

Like Zayn knows anything about rules, honestly.

:::::

A few days later, during a day off, they mess around in Zayn's room for most of the day.

“Seriously, don't judge. I haven't done this in a while,” Zayn says, as he gets to work blowing Harry with soft, hesitant licks, then grows more bolder as Harry moans and groans louder than necessary, to help him out.

When Harry comes, he semi-accidentally pulls out and finishes himself all over Zayn's face, his pretty, pretty hair. It's been one of Harry's fantasies, and it is a marvelous sight.

Zayn spits some of the come he caught with his mouth on Harry's thigh and slaps Harry hard in the stomach, looking so mad. Harry is too busy laughing and clutching his private bits in protection to do anything about it.

“I hate you, _so_ fucking much. You terrible wretch,” Zayn mutters, halfheartedly, as he wipes his face with Harry's boxer briefs.

Harry quiets down and smiles. “It was such a good look on you, pity,” Harry has just enough time to say, when Zayn pounces on him and they start tussling on the bed. And then on the floor, when they fall.

It turns into a slap fight, then a tickle fight.

It's the most fun Harry has had in some time.

:::::

After that, it's easier.

They go out after concerts to let off some steam, and sometimes if it isn't enough, Harry goes back to his room with a pretty, wide-eyed girl. Sometimes Zayn does. Harry doesn't pay attention too much, but when he does, he can't help but feel that Zayn can do better. He doesn't know how Zayn can be doing better, precisely, but it's there, nonetheless.

They've messed around a couple of times already, and it's not something that they try to really keep from the lads. There is no deep, hidden thing to decipher when Louis catches on (Harry collides with him accidentally as he is leaving Zayn's room, and they both sort of smile crookedly at one another as Harry hightails it to his room), but Liam's reaction is something else entirely.

Liam is so disappointed in Harry, is so obviously wounded. It's not fair, to make Harry feel bad when it's something that Zayn is also pretty actively participating in.

“How could you be so stupid? After everything that's happened? After everything I've _told_ you?” Liam asks, mouth drawn low in a tight, white line. It's just the both of them on the bus, the others out eating at some popular diner.

Harry tries not to too visibly tense up, but it's hard; the hurt radiating off of Liam like a nuclear blast of unhappiness. Harry continues surfing on his mobile as Liam stands before him, his hands on his hips. The worrying mum, forever and always.

“It's fine. Don't worry. We know what we're doing,” Harry says with a calm, clipped voice, as he shoots off an urgent message to Grimmy, saying, _SOS_.

Liam lets out a frustrated groan and starts pacing. Of course. Harry looks up at him from the couch, coolly.

“You know better, Harry. I can't believe you, I _really_ can't,” Liam finishes, sort of raggedly, and Harry is suddenly tired of his bullshit. He's tired of Liam's sad, sorry act.

Harry drops his mobile to his side and spreads his legs, leans back on the couch. He lewdly and obviously rakes his eyes up Liam's body, smirking thinly when he gets to Liam's flushed, angry face. “Tell me, Liam,” Harry says deceptively softly, “are you mad because he's moving on? Or are you pissed that you're not the one giving it to him now?” Harry's heart is in his throat by the time he finishes, and he _knows_ he's gone too far, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

Liam's face seems to drop in some sort of muted devastation, and he says, so sadly, “Oh, Harry.” Harry looks down in his lap and bites his lower lip, digs his fingers into his thighs, as Liam sits beside him. “That is not it at all,” Liam says tiredly, voice shaky, and Harry feels sick, feels so very sorry. It wasn't easy for any of them, the last time it happened. Harry forgets that when he looks at Liam, sometimes.

Harry blindly reaches for one of Liam's hands and holds on, says, “I apologize. I know.” Liam squeezes his hand in return and neither of them comment when Harry drags his hand over his eyes, coughs away the stone lodged in his throat.

After a few silent minutes, Liam heaves out a sigh, and says, “Just promise me you are both being careful,” and Harry swallows once, braces himself, and says, “I promise.”

:::::

tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to be studying organic chemistry when I finished this up last night. Well. 
> 
> Anyway, this is the end of it, and I'd like to thank everyone for sending kudos my way as I worked it out. Thank you! It was fun, and I'm hoping they are out of my system now.

That night Harry goes to Zayn's room to drag him out for dinner, but Zayn is on his laptop, making silly faces at the screen. He's on Skype, with his sisters.

Harry grins hugely and bounds over, jumps onto the bed. “Hello!” He yells happily and Zayn shouts and tries to grab his laptop from imminent death. “Be careful, yeah?” Zayn chastises him, warily. The two faces looking back at Harry with matching grins fill Harry with a bubbling sort of warmth.

“Hi, Harry!” They shout back, and Harry throws an arm around Zayn's shoulders as they balance the laptop in both of their laps. “Hey, dolls,” Harry says a second time, waving at them with a bright grin.

“Like, excuse me, but I was talking with my sisters before you so rudely interrupted,” Zayn says snippily, but he's smiling. “Oh, you,” Harry knocks his forehead against Zayn's cheek, and motions expansively at the screen. “Go ahead. I'll keep quiet.”

Zayn looks at him like he's crazy, and the girls giggle. One of them even says, “You're so adorable!”

Harry dimples at Zayn, then at the girls. “Aw, thank you. But you two are far, far more adorable than I could ever hope to be,” and Zayn chimes in quickly by saying, “He's right. Also, Harry's terrible crush material, so go back to mooning over Justin Bieber, yeah?”

Harry pretends to gag for a moment, and then says, “Oh, look at me! I can, like, sing _and_ dance. Seriously, like – I invented _swag_.” He starts doing some dance moves with a flourish as the girls get caught up in laughter again, but then stops with a dramatic, final air-grab. Zayn is laughing, as well, and Harry can't help grinning back at him.

After that, he just sits there and interjects every now and then with silly comments, as Zayn chats for a few more minutes. He doesn't take his arm from around Zayn's shoulders, and sometimes squishes him against his chest when Zayn says something especially sweet.

He watches the way Zayn throws his head back and laughs as the girls tell him funny stories from school, and the way his lips unconsciously purse up and harden a little when he gets hit with longing, nostalgia.

When they say goodbye and the connection ends, Harry closes Zayn's laptop and tugs Zayn to his chest, kisses the top of his head. Zayn holds onto him like he's a lifeline.

“You're fine, love,” Harry says, over and over again.

Harry forgets about going out to pick up, that night. It was nearly two weeks ago, the last time he did.

:::::

Harry fucks Zayn for the first time a few days later. Zayn's back is like a love song, the way he undulates and shivers, the way the sweat glistens on his skin. The dark, purpling bruises Harry has left on his shoulders, on the smooth, pale skin of his ass. Each tattoo on Zayn's body is branded in a new way, now.

Zayn bucks into him with low, hissed noises, and curses when Harry rubs at the spots he's left, slaps him lightly on each cheek. The way he jerks in surprise and spasmodically clenches makes Harry want to lay him out on the sheets and mark and fuck him for hours. Until they are both useless, spent, and motionless.

The urge builds until it is roaring through his head, and Harry pulls out with a shaky groan – condom slick and wet – and coaxes Zayn to his back. Zayn is warm, loose muscles and bones, and when he stretches out slowly, with his knees going around Harry's hips, Harry is hit with the sense of an ending, of an inexorable, final climax. This is the moment Harry should declare the games closed, collect his clothes from the floor and rush from the room. It is the wisest move to make. It is the only move to make.

Instead, Harry memorizes the loose, easy shape of Zayn's teasing smile, and pushes in, makes them fit again. Zayn says, “ _Fuck_ , fuck – _fuck me_ ,” and Harry hears it like it's a dizzying, climbing chorus in a song, and does.

Zayn comes with a muffled whimper against Harry's mouth some indeterminable time later, as Harry steals his words and his very breath from his lungs. Harry tumbles after him, after a few short thrusts. Zayn kisses him through it. They're breaking all the little and big rules they set aside like school children.

They slump into each other in the afterglow, and almost against his will, Harry asks quietly, voice hoarse, “Still playing by the rules?” It's stupid, and it's the worst time, but Harry needs confirmation. He needs to hear it aloud, how well they can now lie to each other.

Zayn moves around and huffs out a breath, runs a hand through his sweaty hair, before he says, “Yeah, we're good. Don't worry.” He manages to make it sound final and steady, without looking Harry in the eyes.

When Zayn gets up to go, for the hundredth time, Harry doesn't stop him. Again.

The need to get up and go to Zayn's room keeps him awake the entire night, and he has to beg off from a radio interview the next day by pretending he's feeling under the weather.

Zayn hangs back in his room as the others leave for the elevator, for the interview. Harry puts a pillow over his head pathetically, hoping Zayn leaves. The pillow gets gently plucked from his hands and then he's looking into Zayn's ridiculously unfair face, feeling overexposed and truly ill.

When Zayn cups his face gently and leans down to briefly kiss him on the lips, Harry pushes into it, stupidly. Zayn rubs a thumb against Harry's cheek for a few seconds and then pulls back, Harry chasing his lips. It hits him with a delay again (self-preservation), and Harry pulls away.

“I'm ill,” Harry says, lowly, and Zayn says, “Yeah,” with a tiny, unsure smile, and leaves.

Harry hopes for a swift, painless death the entire afternoon.

:::::

They're in New Jersey, chilling out poolside before they have to get ready for their concert the next day. It's a private pool area (VIP), thankfully. Harry isn't in the mood to smile and take pictures, give hugs. Zayn and Niall agreed to join him, and now they are all glistening with SPF and tanning oil, as they lounge.

Harry is always his own biggest critic, and the frustration he feels when he can't stop sneaking looks at Zayn – who is smirking and messaging someone – makes him want to jump into the pool to snap some sense into himself. He is very aware, of all the ways he is starting to mess things up. It must be habit. It might be lethal.

They've been doing their friends-with-benefits thing for a month, and Harry can feel and sense change pushing itself into the atmosphere, expanding and mutating around him like a foreboding cloud.

The talk with Liam a week ago set it in motion. Harry doesn't know which part of it tripped the wire, but that's when it happened. He thinks it might've been when - for a few, brief seconds - Harry thought Liam was still harboring feelings for Zayn. The anger and striking sense of loss had hit him like lightning (there was no competing with that, if Liam was competition), and Harry hadn't known what it was until later, when Liam had gone. Harry hates being made into a liar.

Niall snorts and puts down his mobile, sprays some more lotion onto his slightly pink chest. Harry smirks and fixes his sunglasses, but stills when Niall says, “We going to meet up with Justin, Zayn?”

“Who?” Harry immediately asks, and bites the inside of his bottom lip.

Zayn shrugs his shoulders and smiles a little, noncommittally. “I dunno, honestly. Take a car to New York just to hang out a with him for a few hours?”

Harry pays close attention to the act of applying tanning oil on his upper arms. It wouldn't do to have a shitty tan. “Are you talking about Bieber?” Harry rubs the lotion in vigorously and tries not to flinch when Zayn says, “Yeah.”

Of course. That is fantastic. “Is he still trying to get in your pants? Woo you with his dance moves and shiny hair?” Harry asks nastily, and Niall cracks up and says, “How do you know he hasn't yet? Do you think they only exchange hair and moisturizing tips?” Harry turns to look at Zayn, but instead gets hit with an empty water bottle to the side of the head. Niall cackles like an asshole and nudges Harry with his foot. “That was meant for him,” says Zayn apologetically, then leans close to Harry to rub at his forehead, where the bottle grazed him. Harry tries not to pout, not to push him away.

Harry grabs Zayn's wrist and stills him. “Are you going to meet up with him?” Zayn tenses and looks directly at Harry (face no longer obscured by his baseball cap), his fingers curling into a fist.

“I dunno. Maybe,” Zayn says softly, and levels Harry with accusing, narrowed eyes as he jerks his hand away and settles back down. Harry observes him for a few seconds, then lets out a tight breath as he lies down, too.

The obvious lack of Niall registers detachedly. He must have left when he realized Harry was blowing his own cover and ruining things again. Harry is a born and bred kamikaze. It is addictive, the need to tear and rebuild soft tissue and nerves from scratch, every time he is inevitably wrong; despite all of his carefully put-together formulas, and rules, and his smart, rising percentages.

Harry can't blame Niall for leaving. He takes a sip of his ice water and puts his earbuds in, to drown out the voices inside his head.

When he opens his eyes again (twenty minutes later, it says on his mobile), Zayn is gone.

It's a weird place to be: toeing the precipice, knowing there is still a chance to step back to safety, but ultimately diving down into its knowing, dark cradle of empty space.

Harry likes jumping.

:::::

After the pool, Harry takes a shower and gets dressed in a nice pair of jeans, and a tight blue shirt, that brings out the color of his eyes. He makes sure his hair is behaving before he rings up Louis and Liam. They agree to go to a club, and Harry tries not to breathe shallowly, like his chest is too small, like it's filled with cement. Niall and Zayn left with a driver and a bodygaurd to go hang out with Bieber.

He forces Louis to buy him shots and all sorts of colorful drinks with hilarious names as he gets lost in disco lights and painted lips. Louis pities him, and that's good. Liam throws an arm around his shoulders when it looks like the ground wants to have a very intimate word with Harry. Harry stumbles over his own feet and giggles in Liam's ear. “I deserve to be shot. I'm _soooooo_ stupid,” Harry says, and reaches clumsily for a half-finished cranberry and vodka at a passing table. Harry hopes Bieber's dick falls off and that Zayn's hair catches on fire.

Liam laughs from out of nowhere, and Harry thinks he might've said that bit out loud. Wonderful.

The rest of the night is a blur of him yelling things at Louis and Liam with great feeling, and then Paul escorting them back to the car, back to their rooms.

Louis frowns and looks down at Harry, sprawled on his bed. “You want me to stay tonight and make sure you don't die?” Harry grumbles, “Fuck off,” but manages not to be totally useless as Louis helps him get out of his clothes. Then he is ordered to drink a gallon of water and is put to bed. Harry sullenly pulls up the duvet to his chin and says, “I hate all of you,” but Louis still kisses him on the forehead and puts a trashcan next to his bed.

Sometime during the night, Harry wakes up groggily to the feeling of an arm going around his waist, a warm palm pressing lightly down in the center of his chest. Harry sleepily turns his head and noses at Zayn's forehead. “You left,” he croaks out, smacking his dry lips together.

Zayn whispers, “I did,” and lightly kisses his jaw, his shoulder, his neck, until Harry pushes back into him and falls back asleep.

Harry hopes, distantly, that Zayn is there in the morning.

:::::

Zayn is sleeping beside him the very next morning. Harry doesn't feel too terrible, but he still grimaces and squints when he opens his eyes. He finds a glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand and weakly takes them both when he stumbles upright and heads for the shower. His mouth tastes impressively foul. It wouldn't do, to make himself tragically vulnerable in such a poor state. Zayn deserves better. He stayed the night.

When Harry's done, he flops back down onto the bed, and stares at Zayn's untroubled, sleeping face.

It's out of Harry's control, how he reaches for Zayn's hand and threads their fingers together, how he pushes hungrily into Zayn's orbit. He molds himself in all the open spaces, and fits his head underneath Zayn's chin. After a few seconds, Zayn's breathing changes and Zayn enfolds him in his arms, hugs him to his chest. Harry clutches him back. This is necessary.

They are both warm. Harry feels like his insides go supernova when Zayn says, “We are both pretty shit at following rules.” Harry grips Zayn's hip tightly and squeezes.

“Yeah,” Harry says back, voice thick and froggy. “I think we should just scrap them and – give this a shot?” Zayn tangles their feet together as he moves around (so that they are both facing each other), and asks hesitantly (his eyes huge and sincere), “We both failed, right?” _Not just me_ , Harry fills in. Not just me. Harry feels his smile spread wide and out of control, as he replies back with, “We are both _such_ failures. Like, the absolute worst.” Zayn's smile is like pure energy, the way it radiates outward. Harry is drawn to it like a moth to a flame, so he doesn't fight it. He captures Zayn's lips in a funny sort of kiss, because they are both too happy to properly do it.

This is what happens when it's reciprocated, Harry thinks, and nips at Zayn's lips, at his chin. Runs his fingers underneath Zayn's arms and watches him gasp with laughter, try to shove him off and keep Harry tethered to him all at once. They make out for ages, for lifetimes. Harry memorizes all the little sounds Zayn makes, exactly where he likes to be touched, the way he pushes and shoves into Harry's space when Harry teases him. The way Zayn's mouth gently sucks a bruise over the skin of Harry's heart and lays numerous claims, like he's mapping everything out in his own language.

They falls asleep like that.

Niall, Louis and Liam disturb them a few hours later and clap and holler uproariously when they find them in a less-than-respectable state. Zayn throws the covers over them both and tells them to fuck off.

“Only you two could get yourselves into something like this, am I right?” Niall says around a laugh, as he jumps around on the bed like a child. Harry flips them the bird and cuddles into Zayn.

“Alright, alright,” Liam says, placatingly. “We are gonna be heading down for lunch, and I expect to see you both out in an hour. Is that clear?” Harry growls and says, “Yes, now fuck off.”

Louis gets near them to ruffle Harry's and Zayn's hair, and to coo out, “Aren't they precious? Never seen anything more precious, have you, Liam?” And Liam says, “Come now, Louis. Let's give them time to get decent. I think we made our point.”

They leave just as suddenly as they came, and Harry drags the cover down from their heads when they are gone. They smile knowingly at one another and then get out of bed. The shower takes a little longer than normal (Zayn blows Harry, and then Harry returns the favor), but they do make it down in time.

The lads give them a hard time and Louis even blows colorful confetti in their faces and says, “Look! You both just made me vomit rainbows! Aw.” Harry jumps on Louis and attempts to mess with his hair, as Zayn tries getting the confetti out of his own hair with a scowl.

Liam rolls his eyes while Niall bites into a jelly-filled donut, from god knows where he found it. They pack up into a van and go to a restaurant.

When they get there, Harry plays footsie under the table with Zayn as they have lunch, and bites down on a smile every time their hands brush accidentally-on-purpose. Zayn sometimes catches Harry looking at him with big, surprised (or perplexed) eyes, and asks, “Vas happening, babe?” Complete with a ridiculously innocent shoulder shrug and head tilt. Harry rolls his eyes at him fondly and sips at his water, plays with the loose threads of Zayn's jacket sleeve, their hands close but not touching.

Somewhere along the way, both Harry and Zayn managed to get one hundred percent over Louis and Liam, and one hundred percent in love with each other.

The odds of this impossible scenario happening were so slim, that Harry never even bothered to calculate and quantify it, or set up contingency plans in place, just in case.

Life has an interesting way of happening, is what it comes down to.

 

END

 

 


End file.
